Da Capo
by HC247
Summary: A return to Madame's office is in order. But this time, Christine is calling the shots. Sequel/companion to "Interlude".


**For anyone who ever asked about a sequel/continuation of Interlude...this is for you. Written in haste, edited even quicker, just to see if I could. I hope it..ahem, satisfies**

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During her time in the _corps de ballet_, Christine Daae has always been known as the cautious one. Quiet, meek and obedient; never one to partake in the salacious gossip and parties after opening night. Instead, she is happy to content herself with a prayer for her beloved father in the chapel or take a quiet tea in the dorms with the Giry girl, innocent distractions since the end of her mysterious lessons nearly a year ago. There are even whispers of secret meeting with an Angel in a private dressing room, but such thoughts are quickly laughed away, for what fallen Angel would ever desire to seek the company of a docile mouse?

Christine is well aware of her "reputation" and chooses neither to encourage nor deny the snide comments and raised brows of her fellow castmates. Instead, her answering smile is always demure and sweet, somehow serving to cause said castmates to trot back to the group, practically twittering with possibilities of what such an innocent girl could possibly be hiding behind that sweet facade.

She watches them go with shaky sigh. _Obedient Christine; how dreadfully boring._

The thoughts of her peers do not concern her. She knows who she is and wears it proudly, for the truth remains:

They do not know everything.

Still, it is that damned sense of compliance that sends her racing down the halls of the Opera in response to a note pressed into her hand during a rehearsal break ten minutes before. Her presence is required, it seems, for a most urgent matter.

Fine.

But this time, she is the one who will be waiting.

She has no more than half a minute after she enters the room to lock the door behind her and position herself in full view of the window while uttering a mocking "Ah, there you are," as her masked companion emerges from the balcony. "How unlike you to be so tardy."

Gemstone eyes flash dangerously as the figure advances on her. "You think to try and best me at my own game, madame?"

That deceptively sweet smile reappears as she meets him toe to toe. "I would think it would serve you right," she retorted, even as she reaches up to draw a line along his jaw, as the long fingers of his right hand thread through her curls and those of his right settle at the familiar dip of her waist. "Just do be sure this liaison does not end as our previous attempt, hmm?"

He releases a deep chuckle at the accusatory arch of her brow. "I assure you the good Madame is well occupied and relieved of her keys. All of them."

"How thorough of you," she breathes, hovering her lips dangerously _just-so_ below his mouth, so close she can see the way his jaw tightens as her hot breath teases over his thin lips and she darts away slightly as he begins to close the distance between them. "One final matter of concern," she chirps, her easy grin betraying the thrill of his fingers digging into the base of her spine. "Do you still find me sharp in the second chorus? After all, I would hate to be distracted if my performance is still anything less than perfection."

He bends his head, looming over her as his eyes darken and he takes another brazen step into her personal space, inching closer and closer to the kiss she has denied him thus far. "_You_ are perfection," he murmurs, the gray-green of his eyes nearly black and his fingers trembling at her chin. "Now, if you are quite finished…"

Whatever witty reply she may offer is lost in the kiss she grants him now, one that is long and deep and causes her toes to curl within her slippers. They allow each other no gradual slide into passion, but instead pull each other head first over the edge and the fall is glorious. Christine rises on tiptoe to wrap her arm around Erik's neck even as his fingers on his left hand slide south to feel the curve of her bottom. His right still cradles her face, abandoning the velvet of her skin every so often to drag itself through her curls when her tongue surges forward to combat the teasing of his fingers further down.

She pulls back then, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek before moving her lips to his neck. Teeth and tongue startle and sooth in tandem and soon she is smiling against his skin at his gasp and groan that follows. With one hand still looped about his neck, her other moves sinuously over his cheek, down the column of his throat, over his collar and finally down the arm of his tailcoat, fingers pausing at his forearm, mourning the lack of bare skin there. Still, she can feel the corded muscles underneath, coiled taunt, and traces them with a whispering touch while returning to his lips to steal another kiss.

He comes to life then, clearly in no mood for her slow seduction. Instead, he leans farther over her, both hands anchoring her spine, and bending her so far back that it is by his hold alone she remains standing. His lips are rough and impatient, his hands even morso as he hauls her closer, plundering quick and deep yet she gives no indication that he wishes him to stop. It is some measures of movement later accompanied by a smattering of crash and clatters, that she realizes that she has become perched precariously in his lap as he takes a seat on the desk, reminiscent of their last attempts at clandestine passion. His hand begins the familiar journey up her ribcage, brushing curls off of her shoulder before venturing south to the heated flesh waiting for his touch.

She hears his whispered "Christine" against her lips and she pulls away then, ignoring the questions in the passionate glaze of his eyes, even as she feels his urgency growing beneath her. _Good._

She presses a chaste kiss to his malformed lips before extracting herself from his hold. She practically slithers down the length of his legs, earning a strangled hiss from the Opera Ghost and a grin from her. Gathering courage from his reactions to her brazen movements, she draws him from the desk to his feet and gives him only moments to right himself before pushing him back with a playful shove to his chest.

He staggers back a few steps before she comes at him again, seizing him by the shoulders before her palms part his tailcoat, resting on the starched white shirt beneath. His hands are at her back again, shifting up and down as her fingers move down his chest, releasing button after button along the way. Their kiss is positively ravenous by the time the last button is released, tails still tucked, leaving slivered trail of pale skin to her view.

Christine sweeps her palm over the newly bared skin, nearly giddy with pleasure as she feels the taunt muscles of his chest and stomach contract and roll under her touch. Abandoning her search for the moment, her hands drift lower to grasp the belt loops of his trousers, walking him back, back, back, until he is firmly trapped between her soft curves and the hard wall of the office.

Erik hardly seems to mind, releasing an approving hum into her mouth, his broad hands already running over her waist and down her hips, seeking the many folds of her skirts, beginning to bunch them in a hungry search for the warmth that lies beneath. His mouth flutters south, pressing a line of kisses down her jawline as he begins to slide down the wall, hands lifting layer after layer of the rich fabric. She stops him, her smaller hands moving to grasp his elbows and pull him up again.

His gaze is questioning again, eyes dark with barely leashed passion and she is helpless to stop the endearing smile that blooms. Cupping his masked cheek, she strokes the unmasked one, then trails her hand down, over his throat, down his chest to lightly brush over raised fabric of his fine Italian trousers. His next breath is shattering as her fingers find her belt, the knowing clink of the buckle giving way.

She has him in her hand now, hard and soft all at once. She meets his wide eyes with an enthralling grin, then pulls him back to her, taking his mouth with a renewed purpose. Her tongue plunders his mouth, shyly pushing forward, then retreating, mimicking the slight movement of her hand on another part of his skin. Erik's grip on her waist is almost painful and his free hand moves to cover hers in assistance, but she bats it away, content to explore on her own, to catalogue every hitch of breath and each desperate gasp caused by her touch.

Christine withdraws lips and hands then, eyes alight with mischief. A glance down causes a blush to darken her cheek and she peers up at him, gauging his reaction to her previous attentions. Erik meets her curious gaze, breaths still labored, and it is only a moment after she sees the fire there that she makes up her mind.

Erik is still studying her, eyes widening as she steps back and whets her lips before placing a palm to his chest as she sinks to the floor. "_Christine…"_ he rasps.

"Let me see to you," she returns, pushing his knees apart to give her unfettered access to him. She grips him first, drawing a deep moan from the man above her, before leaning forward for a taste. With hand and mouth, she works him higher and higher. His long fingers are splaying in her hair while her free hand is wrapped around his thigh for support.

A slight thud draws her eyes up to see his head lolled back against that ghastly wallpaper, mouth falling open in a silent cry. The sight of him so completely undone spurs her on, causing mouth and hand to move faster in tandem, redoubling her resolve to bring him blinding pleasure in a world that only offered pain before.

His moans come faster, louder and she knows that if she sees him to completion, she risks discovery among other dangers. His groan when she releases him is so guttural and she kisses her apology into his mouth as she drives him to his knees beside her.

His breaths are a heavy staccato as she cups his cheek affectionately. "Minx," he positively growls, rolling them to the floor so she is gazing up at him, her brown eyes sparkling with anticipation. Musicians fingers find the buttons of her bodice as he finds her mouth again, keeping lips and tongue duly occupied as he takes his turn freeing each clasp until the material splays open, revealing her translucent shift to his heated gaze. His hands slip inside the thin materials, gently palming each breast before sitting them up to take their full weight in his hands.

Christine squirms at his touch, then gasps as his mouth replaces his fingers. She anchors him there for a moment, then draws him down so he is hovering over her again, the porcelain of his mask still jarringly cold against her heated flesh. "Erik!" she cries as his teeth find a particularly sensitive spot on her skin but he stops at the sound of his name, eyes wide with sudden concern.

She gifts him with a smile instead, drawing him back up to her face, reaching up to palm the mask and comb her fingers through the thick hair of his wig. "These need to come off, love." she breathes, not missing the way his eyes dim, his jaw tightens. "It is only you and I." When he says nothing in reply, she sits up, pulling him with her. Swinging one leg over his hips, she straddles him just before she pulls both wig and mask away, bearing the full horror of his face to her loving gaze. She does not give him a chance to react, but tugs his mouth back to hers, kissing him deeply again as his hands renew their familiar exploration of her.

She quivers at his touch, causing his hands to falter slightly. Her skirts are still between them, rucked and bunched by Erik's eager hands and it is these movements that she encourages now, gasping when his fingers slide along her inner thigh, whimpering softly in his ear. His hands still at the sound and she takes the opportunity to force his eyes to hers and commands, voice heated with urgency. "Now, Erik. I want you inside of me _now._"

His pupils dilate before her eyes, heating blood into fire as he buries his face in the crook of her neck and, with a few shifts of fabric and fingers, takes what his body demands. Her eyes fall closed at the welcome feel of him, nails biting into his shoulders as he fills her completely. Both are completely still for a moment- just a moment of blissful harmony- and then Christine shifts ever-so-slightly and the angle drives Erik forward and her back, his arms drawing and lifting to press her closer.

Now beneath him, Christine strives to deepen their connection, cursing their semi-clothed state and missing the slide-and-drag that comes with bare flesh-on- flesh. Erik leans forward and captures her lips in a fevered kiss as he grasps her hips in a fruitless attempt to direct the rhythm of their loving. His body apparently demands otherwise and Christine will not lie that it is an absolute thrill to watch him lose himself in her. She loves to watch his rapture build...eyes falling closed, shirt gaping open, that elegant mouth falling open with strangled cries as he moves over her with abandon. Had she been paying attention, she would have been surprised by the sounds that he managed to draw forth from her golden throat before their voices joined together, a beautiful alternating symphony of lustful moans and ecstatic whimpers.

This liaison might be hasty and inelegant, but neither is it any less satisfying for either of them. They ride out the waves they created together before finally falling into breathless release. When the final tremors ebb away, Christine practically melts under him, seeking the reassuring touch of his hand as he lies half-atop her, his own breaths staggering and shaky.

She is sure he can feel the lazy smile that curves her lips against his throat and his low chuckle sends delicious shivers down her spine as she smoothes a palm across his forehead, coated with perspiration from their amorous activities. "A most productive meeting, _mon _ange."

She raises a hand to deliver a half-hearted slap to his chest. "If Madame were to ever learn of our "meetings", it would be both of our heads on a spike." She lifts her eyes to his, then casts them about the room, grimacing as she takes in various objects carelessly thrown about in the heat of desire. "We've practically destroyed her desk."

"A fitting revenge," he replies from the floor, eyes closed and chest still heaving a bit too hard to hide the catch in his voice. "When all else fails, start again."

"From the beginning," she murmurs, catching his hand again to press a kiss to his palm. "I will confess, Erik, I do not believe I shall ever tire of your considerable...talents."

He glances down at her, a familiar glint lighting his gemstone eyes. "That is most reassuring to hear, my dear. For fear not," Dipping his head, he kisses her with renewed vigor, the promise of passion simmering just below the surface. "I plan to revisit our...connection very soon."

Puffing out a breath of air, Christine grasps the lapels of his tailcoat, snakes a leg around his thigh and pulls him against her.


End file.
